


The Virgin's Beast

by wolftraptobaltimore (ogidni)



Category: Hannibal (TV), King Arthur (2004)
Genre: #TristhadFest, M/M, Tags will change later, UNICORN!!!, birds and the bees talk, okay not really hannigram - just inspired by, sexual descriptions of bodies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-29
Updated: 2017-04-29
Packaged: 2018-10-25 07:14:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10759359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ogidni/pseuds/wolftraptobaltimore
Summary: It was said that only pure-hearted virgins could tame unicorns. At an abbey such as Galahad’s, virgins were in no short supply, but the bright, white beast approached Galahad and rested the soft flesh of its muzzle in the palm of his hand.His eyes raced up to the gleaming tip of its single horn, which shone in the sun like a prism, casting bands of colored light. When the creature dipped its head, Galahad took the invitation to feel it, certain of its sharpness. He ran his palm over its great, strong neck, and then threaded his fingers into the silk of its mane.“I do not know how to ride,” Galahad confessed, but the unicorn insisted with a few tosses of its head.





	The Virgin's Beast

**Author's Note:**

> HEY GUYSSSSS! It's been a long time. Sorry about that. Still, Tristhad Fest is being hosted this week by the [Hannibal Cre-ate-ive](http://hannibalcreative.tumblr.com/post/156767542829/were-incredibly-excited-to-announce-the-tristhad) and we had to participate.
> 
> Please enjoy this tasty fic about Galahad and his unicorn - also I guess Tristan will be in it LOL. For those of you who are wondering why a unicorn, I challenge you to give me a reason why not to have a unicorn. Basically we enjoy Arthurian legend, so this is a blend of traditional Arthurian legend and the King Arthur (2004) canon. Major differences: Lancelot is Galahad's dad (like in Arthurian legend) and Galahad has a unicorn (personal extrapolation since unicorns can only be tamed by pure virgins). By the by, we named the unicorn Hector.
> 
> ENJOY!
> 
> \- W and B

Raised by sisters in a convent, Galahad could count the number of times he had seen another person’s unclad body on one hand — one finger really. He had been sent to fetch one of the girls who was late to take charge of her chores.

 

When he arrived at the door to her cell, he found it slightly ajar. 

 

Perhaps it had been left this way by another girl who shared the same sleeping quarters. Galahad did not knock in case it might startle her too harshly from her sleep. However, instead of seeing a sleeping maiden, he saw an unclothed nymph. She was young, but much older than he was. Her hair, strawberry blonde, caught the brilliance of the mid-morning light streaming through a small, square window cut out of the indelicate stone wall.

 

She turned in profile and her eyelashes caught the sun too. He saw a soft thatch of hair at the front of her pelvis and wondered if it covered her penis. Galahad thought this might happen to him as well when he got to her age. Her skin was milky white, not unlike his own, but her chest was far more pronounced, yet less so than he imagined the abbess’s would be beneath her robes. Galahad fancied he would not like to see what was beneath the abbess’s robes, but this girl was very pretty. She was beautiful when she bent down to tie her undergarments up at her waist and lovely when she pulled her habit over her head even though it covered the bright colors of her hair.

 

Galahad took a step back from the door and found himself alone in the dark corridor facing dark wood. He brought his knuckles up to the door’s surface and rapped softly as he had been taught was polite.

 

“Just a moment,” her voice floated out to him and, in a short time, she too floated out the door running slender fingers through his hair. “Sweet boy,” she praised. Her touch filled him with the warmth of the sun and he immediately felt its loss when she departed for her day’s work, but not before taking him to the kitchen for a heel of bread and half a glass of milk.

 

Many years passed until one spring when Galahad had just entered his twelfth year. A curly-haired man rode into the glen where Galahad’s abbey stood. He was flanked by two other men, but when Galahad drew his bucket up from the well, only the curly-haired man looked at him. His gaze had been solemn and guilt-ridden. It was the look of a man doing penance, a look Galahad had become familiar with over his years at the abbey. 

 

Galahad looked away in second-hand shame. 

 

The abbess could not banish the tight disdain from her eyes when the three men stood before her in the threshold.

 

“I gather you’ve lost your claim to him a long time ago,” she chastised shrilly, “he is one of God’s children now!”

 

The curly haired man spoke low, under his breath so Galahad could not hear his side of the conversation.

 

However, Galahad could not be bothered by the adult conversation he would later come to understand had been about him because a bright shape began to take form at the edge of the forest greenery.

 

That was the day that Galahad met Hector. It was said that only pure-hearted virgins could tame unicorns. At an abbey such as Galahad’s, virgins were in no short supply, but the bright, white beast approached Galahad and rested the soft flesh of its muzzle in the palm of his hand.

 

His eyes raced up to the gleaming tip of its single horn, which shone in the sun like a prism, casting bands of colored light. When the creature dipped its head, Galahad took the invitation to feel it, certain of its sharpness. He ran his palm over its great, strong neck, and then threaded his fingers into the silk of its mane. The two of them shared a brief look, Galahad’s eyes pale blue and the unicorn’s warm black; Galahad seemed to know in that moment that the bow of its graceful head was meant to invite him onto its back.

 

“I do not know how to ride,” Galahad confessed, but the unicorn insisted with a few tosses of its head. 

 

The boy struggled at first, not sure how to mount a horse when he was still so small himself and there were no footholds for him to make use of. Eventually, the unicorn dropped to its knees so he could straddle its back and waited until Galahad prostrated himself on its back with his arms wrapped around its thick neck. Then the unicorn hefted himself back onto his feet and joined the three horses the strange men had arrived on. 

 

“Am I to go?” Galahad raised the question to all those around him because everyone else, Hector included, seemed to understand the course of his life more than he ever would.

 

He stroked an unruly tuft of white hair at the base of the creature’s mane and watched as the horses accepted the unicorn’s presence in their makeshift pack as if he were no different than the rest of them.

 

The three men approached with much more awe than their mounts had displayed with the abbess trailing shortly behind them.

 

“Karkadann…” the one with the deep-set eyes and straight, dark hair mumbled.

 

“It is an omen of the old man’s prophecy,” remarked the one with flaxen hair and a kind expression.

 

The closer the three men got, the tenser the sleek muscles between Galahad’s thighs grew.

 

“Stop.” Galahad commanded from his seat atop the unicorn.

 

The men stopped.

 

Silence stretched out between the five people in the field and glances were passed between the three warriors. Galahad watched them and waited for someone to speak since he was not prepared to say anything beyond what he had just said to calm his new friend.

 

It was the abbess who moved first and approached Galahad and his steed. She laid a hand on its shoulder and stroked assuredly. The beast tolerated her touches and nickered breathily as she lifted her hand to gently stroke Galahad’s thigh. Like a mother, she fixed his tunic and straightened the leg of his bottoms.

 

“He is a boy without possessions,” she leveled a cryptic look on the curly-haired man and fully turned to face the three warriors. “However, this blessed beast has come to offer its protection to the boy knowing what Galahad’s destiny will bring.”

 

The abbess took Galahad’s hand between her two palms and said a prayer over it before kissing the tips of his fingers and releasing him.

 

She retreated to the threshold of the abbey and watched them off until Galahad could no longer see her stationed in front of his home in the sacred glen -- and even then, she may have stayed longer for all that Galahad knew.

 

Once the men returned to horseback, the unicorn did not seem to care about or even acknowledge them. Galahad fell into stride behind the curly-haired man’s mare with the two younger warriors behind him.

 

“I did not wish this life for you,” the curly-haired man admitted regretfully.

 

Galahad found this maudlin attitude to be uncalled for. The abbess decreed that he would come to understand his destiny on this journey with a new steed at his side. It certainly didn’t seem an occasion for mourning.

 

\---

 

A year passed.

 

His life in the abbey had been sheltered with few chores and fewer demands. When he arrived at the Roman outpost guarded by Arthur and his trusted knights, he was immediately expected to see to a wide variety of menial tasks. He was made to clear roadways of debris and haul water to the troughs for livestock.

 

Every morning he was awoken by Gawain, the fair-haired knight, and herded off to training with Bors and Dagonet. He learned that Tristan, the dark-haired one, was a scout and often left the outpost for days at a time for reconnaissance missions. One time, the man had returned with a falcon perched on his bloodied wrist, but a smile stretched across his lips. Lancelot, the curly-haired man, was second in command…

 

...and Arthur was their leader.

 

There were other knights that Galahad knew less of, but these were the men he was most familiar with. When Galahad first arrived, Arthur had smiled warmly at him, fussed with Galahad’s hair, and laughed about how much he resembled his father. Galahad did not know what he meant by this, and only learned a year later when Bors drunkenly pulled him to his side and told him.

 

“S’not right, lad. Your dad — as ‘e is. Got ‘is son by ‘is side all day and barely shows ‘im any wisdom.”

 

“My dad?”

 

“Yeah, your right cunt of a father. If you was my son, I’d teach you how to use a sword myself instead’a pawnin’ you off on ol’ Dagonet ‘n me.”

 

“My dad is here?”

 

“Fuck, li’l Gally — Lancelot’s your pa — knew tha’ did you not?”

 

A low fire Galahad had never known burned throughout his veins. He patted Bors on the shoulder distractedly as he lifted himself from his seat on the wooden bench and crossed the open dining area to stand before the most charming of all the knights. Galahad stole a pitcher of wine from a passing bar-maiden and upended the entirety of it over his father’s head. The woman who had been sitting in Lancelot’s lap cursed and smacked Galahad across the face. Everyone else in the bar laughed raucously.

 

“Doubt that’s a first for ye’ Lancelot.”

 

“Pro’lly a first for Galahad!”

 

“Walk it off, lad.”

 

Galahad walked it off. He walked himself to the stables and slept there curled in the curve of Hector’s body while the unicorn rested his soft muzzle over Galahad’s shoulder protectively.

 

The next afternoon, Gawain found Galahad after hours of searching. Hector huffed warningly when the other young knight approached and Galahad stirred into wakefulness.

 

“Bors is sorry,” Gawain settled on top of a short stump that was situated by the opening of the stables. 

 

“Is it true, Gawain?”

 

Gawain, though several years older, was the closest to Galahad in age and Galahad had grown close to him accordingly.

 

“As far as I know, it is true.”

 

Galahad shoved closer into the warmth of Hector’s belly.

 

“We don’t have to talk about it now,” Gawain offered, “but we should go back to training. Bors’ll never forgive himself if you never want to take the sword up again.”

 

“I’ve haven’t got anything against the sword…” Galahad extracted himself from Hector’s gathered limbs and the unicorn righted himself behind the boy with a toss of his head.

 

“That’s it. We’ll have a go of it before lunch, then.” Gawain patted the boy on his back and pushed him out into the day’s sunlight.

 

\---

 

Galahad’s mood did not improve much over the course of the day. He was able to conduct himself normally during his training with Bors, Gawain, and Dagonet, but when he left them to tend to the livestock, his dour mood returned.

 

Once he was alone, he stewed more about his sparse encounters with Lancelot all the way from their first meeting at the abbey to their most recent one last night.

 

How could he have thought to keep this knowledge from Galahad when they were in such close proximity at all times? It was infuriating, as well, that everyone aside from Galahad was in on the secret. Everyone around him seemed like a liar, so when Galahad returned to take his dinner at the fire in the middle of the open-air tavern that night, his mood was just as dark as it had been when he poured wine on his father’s head the night before.

 

Nobody bothered him. Gawain alone offered to bring him dinner and clear his dishes once it became clear he only intended to eat half of what he had been served.

 

Soon enough, the number of drunken patrons began to dwindle, and Bors’ woman set two more pieces of wood on top of the fire to keep Galahad warm before leaving herself.

 

Her soft voice was the last he heard before he was entirely alone beside the edge of the fire.

 

The moon rose high overhead, assuming authority in the center of a frozen sky. The shadows on the ground crisped into black pools, and Galahad stared balefully into the fire. Its flames had dwindled down to embers when another log struck the coals, sending sparks flaring up into the night sky. Galahad startled gracelessly, his hand flying to the hilt of his sword. 

 

“Who go—”

 

A low, rasping chuckle answered him. 

 

“Been working on your reflexes, lad?” 

 

“Tristan,” he grunted, settling again. 

 

The older man sat heavily opposite him, sighing into the cold air. Galahad watched through his lashes as Tristan drank from a skin he produced from beneath his fur mantle.

 

“Suppose I didn’t miss anything, eh?” Tristan said after a long moment of silence. He had been on a scouting trip in the northern mists for over a week.

 

“Bors told me Lancelot is my father,” Galahad blurted, unable to divert himself. Tristan stopped mid-gulp, the wineskin still to his lips, and then swallowed slowly, giving a single nod.

 

“Aye, I’ve heard.”

 

“You never told me!” It felt good to be able to accuse someone of this wrongdoing out loud instead of privately in his head.

 

“Should I have?” Tristan probed, one eyebrow quirked. To his knowledge Lancelot had a plan for informing the boy; he meant to speak with his mother first, but in person. It sounded unlikely to ever happen, in Tristan’s opinion, but he wasn’t interested in meddling much in the other knights’ affairs. 

 

“Of course!” Galahad asserted. “Everyone knows except for me, and it’s been a whole year.” He pushed the point of his sword into the heart of the fire and watched as sparks were carried up on the current of a weak wind.

 

“Seemed right to leave it to him,” Tristan returned with a half-shrug. “I gather the circumstances were bleak.” 

 

“Bors was drunk,” the cold caused Galahad to start sniffing, “he didn’t mean to.” For the first time since the night before, Galahad felt ashamed of his own behavior. He remembered earlier in the day, when he and Gawain had gone to train with Bors. The older man was much more withdrawn than usual. Bors must have been waiting to be granted forgiveness which Galahad had never bestowed.

 

“I meant the circumstances of your conception,” Tristan clarified frankly.

 

“What?” This clarified nothing for a boy raised in a convent.

 

“D’you know what it means,  _ conception _ ?  _ To conceive _ ?” 

 

Galahad’s cheeks reddened in anger at being made a fool by someone older. 

 

“I’ve never heard the word,” he finally bit out and stared deeper into the fire to avoid Tristan’s eyes. 

 

Galahad had learned many things in his year with the knights. Gawain was always kind and careful to coddle his ego. Dagonet was always minimal in his explanations. Bors was more likely to be just as confused as Galahad. Lancelot was very objective, and Arthur was always understanding. But Tristan was always unrelenting. He’d tut his tongue behind his pointed teeth and tease when he could.

 

Tristan scoffed. “The nuns didn’t fill you in, eh?” He shot a playful glance at Galahad, then took another swig from his wineskin. “ _ Conceive _ ’s when a child is made. You know how that goes, don’t you?” 

 

For a long moment, Galahad considered lying. He had done this before and escaped Tristan’s mockery in doing so, but this time Tristan must have read into his silence because he cleared his throat and carried on.

 

“Well, you’ve got your prick between your legs there, you likely know that well enough. When she’s due for it, your prick gets hard, and you put it in her cunt. That’s how children are conceived. Then they’re born in about three seasons’ time, out the same hole.” 

 

After being red so long, it was almost comical how quickly Galahad blanched at Tristan’s instruction. 

 

“A baby’s much larger than a — a prick.”

 

Tristan laughed, deep and resonant, his head tipped back with mirth. “Aye, it is. Gives ‘em a hell of a time.” 

 

“I ought to rest,” Galahad huffed after a moment, not sure that he could endure any more revelations in one night. He stood to gather his things, and briskly walked away without another word to the other knight. The young boy hated Tristan having fun at his expense, but he was glad this mysterious and forbidden thing had been explained by someone other than his father who, in his estimation, hardly deserved the title.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first of two works we'll be posting for it, so stay tuned! The second (shorter) two-parter is a gift for the lovely master of gifsets, [Sirenja](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Sirenja/pseuds/Sirenja). Thanks to Sirenja and Rednikjow for inspiring us with [this post](http://sirenja-and-the-stag.tumblr.com/post/159987749133/rednikjow-hat-auf-deine-bilderserie-geantwortet). In any case, that's a preview of what's to come. ABO Tristhad on the agenda.


End file.
